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260

Grace Wentworth.

Vol. II.

saddest hypocondriac would have found her merriment infectious. But one slight glance of disapproval would instantly change the merry brow and arch smile, to seriousness, and thought, and convert the laughing girl, to the grave, intelligent companion.

Grace was admired; and it has been said, that no female can have many admirers, without attracting them by coquetry. The truth of this I doubt. “Who can view the ripened rose, nor seek to wear it !” Who can behold beauty, sweetness and intelligence, without feeling, and offering admiration 4 Though Grace was not insensible to the praises of her loveliness, she never sought, nor never courted admiration; and no delicate and pure minded female ever can.

She was accustomed in her youth to seeing, collected cround her father's board, the most distinguished worthies of the day, and they were not a few. There she listened to that stern, fearless, but able republican ; he, who amidst a host of patriotic spirits, was called the patriot–SAMUEL ADAMs. There, too, she saw the idol of the people, the generous, affable, and hospitable HANcock; and the wit, sarcasm, and eloquence of Otis, with the cultivated taste of the excellent and benevolent Bowdoin, enlivened their social circle. One of the most celebrated divines and politicians of New-England, was also a frequent and welcome guest. In him these characters were admirably united. “Dr. Cooper,” observes his eulogist, “well knew that tyranny opposes itself to religious as well as civil liberty; and being among the first to perceive the injustice of the British Court, this reverend patriot was among the first who took an early and decided stand in the politics of his country.” His uncommon and colloquial talents, his extensive learning, brilliant imagination, and retentive memory, would have made any subject interesting. What wonder, then, that when the spirit stirring events of the revolution were discussed, they should have awakened Grace's warmest enthusiasm : But this was not all; her gratitude and affection were excited by the kind attention with which he answered her inquiries, and endeavored to awaken her susceptible mind to the perception of the deep beauties of the sacred volume. The mantle of his father had fallen upon him, and he possessed the rare talent of making religious truths deeply interesting, and of enforcing them by appropriate scriptural allusions—admirable, but, at the same time, familiar to the meanest capacity.

Boston has been called the “paradise of ministers;” at all times, its citizens have evinced their descent from the puritans, by their respect for their pastors. Grace inherited this true New-England feeling—veneration for hers.

Thus matured amidst the master spirits of the age, it cannot be supposed that her young affections were to be won by any ordinary character, and it was no common spirit that at last obtained an interest in her unpractised heart. Among the greatest delights that Mr. Wentworth enjoyed, during his residence at a foreign court, was the friendship of M. de VALLIERE, and he was the only person whom Grace had ever heard her mother warmly praise. Favors so peculiarly disinterested had been rendered by him, and so delicately rendered, that no unpleasant sense of obligation was felt, and even the selfish heart of Mrs. Wentworth was made sensible to the emotion of gratitude. M. de Walliere was a French West Indian Planter, and for years, had been a correspondent of Mr. Wentworth's. Grace had been delighted with the good sense and eloquence of his letters, with the glowing and animated descriptions of the scenes he had witnessed in his foreign travels. She had also felt deeply interested in the benevolent plans, and noble and philanthropic sentiments expressed towards the degraded Africans. Her imagination had pictured him a venerable old man, yet wearing a smile as bland and courteous as her pastor's, with the same clear eye, bearing the evidence of temperate youth. Returning one morning from her usual walk, she observed a foreign traveling apparatus in the hall. “Phillis,” said she to an old favorite domestic, whose face appeared more than usually joyous, “what strangers have we here 1” “Mister Valer come, Miss Grace, and make us all glad.” “Dear Father,” said she, entering the drawing room, “how happy this arrival must make you. Kind de Valliere, is he not, to cross the ocean at this inclement season, and at his advanced age, too, to visit his friend!" Her father's unchecked laugh startled her, and she turned her head on hearing an approaching step. She met a smile, bland and courteous, it is true, yet showing teeth bril liant and glittering as pearls. The clear lighted eye was there, but the lofty mien wore no stamp of age. True, the brow was not fair as youth, but it bore the “thought of years,” not their decrepitude. *k sk -k .k. sk In a year from the time he first beheld her, Grace Wentworth stood by the side of Robert de Walliere, his wedded wife; and in the island of St. Domingo, in the summer of 1791, Mr. Wentworth witnessed their almost perfect happiness. Grace's character had be. come more perfect by her fulfilment of all the sweet offices of wife and mother. He

saw her amiable hospitality, diffusing around No. 11.

Grace Wentworth.

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her an atmosphere of light and happiness; he witnessed the charm of her delightful vivacity and endearing domestic virtues, “virtues which, though they are said to love the shade, are sometimes chilled by the cares of domestic life.” He saw the beloved and af. fectionate mother; the heart of the husband safely trusting in the principled and conscientious wife, the watchful mistress of a host of dependents, grateful for their meliorated condition, and looking to Mons. and Mad. de Valliere as the creators of their happiness. With so much kindness and liberality had the negroes on their plantation been treated; so many advantages did they enjoy, that it had become a proverbial expression among the white lower people in Cape Francois, in speaking of another's happiness, to say “il est heureux comme un negre de Walliere.” To Mr. Wentworth all appeared like a summer's morn of bright and tranquil beauty, with not a breeze to disturb its repose and softness; but the calm was treacherous—and only made the night of darkness and horror that followed, more dreadful. Business of importance called Mr. Wentworth to New-England; he went, accompanied by De Valliere; but Grace, unwilling to leave her children during the sultry month of August, remained on the Island. She had passed a restless night, and on the morning of the 23d, arose unrefreshed by her broken slumbers. Her serenity was dis. turbed by a confused recollection of being awakened before dawn, by the report of a cannon, and she felt a gloomy foreboding, an unaccountable depression of spirits, which she could not dispel. Even the performance of her morning devotions had failed to restore her usual equanimity and buoyancy of spirits. She sought her nursery, and in the caresses of her children, in gazing on their merry brows and sunny smiles, listening to the gush of enjoyment that broke forth in irrepressible laughter, she forgot her own sadness. Her youngest boy was in her arms, endeavoring to blindfold his mother, by binding her luxuriant hair over her smiling eyes, when a loud, sudden and savage yell, broke in upon their innocent merriment. She heard the dying groans of her faithful negroes, mingling with the shouts, and execrations of the merciless slaves, who had arisen in rebellion against their masters. Breathless and motionless— her hushed and frighted children clinging around,-she perceived at once the horrors by which she was surrounded. Uncertain how extensive was the revolt, she knew not if safety could be found in flight; but it was horrible, thus hopelessly to awaither own and her children's massacre. ..The door of the veranda was cautiously and silently opened, and James, (a servant, whose

superior intelligence and fidelity had obtained from his master his freedom) appeared. Not a word was spoken, but catching two of the children in his arms, and motioning his mistress to follow, he passed through the veranda and the garden. Silently and rapidly, with her child clinging to her neck, Grace reached the outskirts of the plantation. Here, new horrors awaited her. A band of insurgents demanded with savage exultation, the blood of the white woman and her children. “Stand back and let us pass,” said James, sternly, but calmly. “Are ye men, and would ye take the life of the black man's friend?— Have ye gratitude, and would ye murder the children of those who have always protected and sheltered the negro in his wants?” “The lady may go,” said they; “but the boy shall not escape us.” One of the most ferocious of the band tore the trembling child from his mother. Quicker than thought, James disengaged himself from the children, recovered the boy, and levelled the savage to the ground. “Begone,” he cried, “I will loose my life before you shall harm this boy.” For the honor of human nature, they were suffered to escape. Grace passed rapidly, and with averted eye, scenes too horrible to be related; and reached in safety a retreat in a neighboring and mountainous wood. At night, the faithful James brought them provisions, and intelligence of the proceedings of the insurgents; and during the day, he kept watch around their retreat. But anxious for their safety, and knowing his single arm would avail little, should the excited slaves again discover them, he provided a canoe for their escape, and conducted them to it by slow marches in the night, along the banks of the river. They entered the canoe, but it was soon overset by the rapidity of the current, and after a narrow escape they returned to their retreat in the mountains. Nineteen days Mad. de Walliere and her children remained in the wood, before James felt they could leave it in safety. He constantly supplied them with provisions from the rebel camp, and watched around them like a guardian spirit. He at length provided a passage in a ship bound for New-England, and conducted them, with much hazard and difficulty, to the port.* Grace knew not how extensive had been the storm of death and desolation, till she saw the once flourishing and beautiful town, a waste and ruin, with thousands of its inhabitants exterminated in the massacre. Her voyage was tranquil and happy; and in her

*The account of the escape of Mad. de Valliere, through the fidelity and attachment of her servant, is derived from an authentic source. His name was James Francois.

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The Grave of the Broken Heart—Ups and Downs. Vol. II.

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“Father,” said Janette Oakley, a beautiful but vain young woman, “I have made a call on Miss Frasier to-day, and what do you think I saw there 4” “Probably a giddy unthinking girl like yourself, who is miserable till she possesses every new extravagance that folly sets afloat,” was the half gay, half-grave response. “Why, father,” continued Janette, “how can you say so " and assuming one of her most witching smiles, she added, “Miss Frasier has got a new piano-forte of superior tone to her old one, besides being far more richly and beautifully finished.” “Well; what then, child?” rejoined her father, with pensive gravity. “Why, I was thinking—but you will be offended, I fear.” “Not in the least, unless you do wrong as well as think. So you was thinking that"— “I should like a piano like Matilda's,” was the half timid response of Janette. “I thought as much,” continued her father, “but what is the cost of such an article, my dear!” “Only fifteen hundred dollars, father,” and Janette crouched down by his side and regarded him with a fond deprecating smile. Charles Oakley loved his daughter—his hand pushed aside the rich tresses that shaded her polished brow, and imprinting thereon a parent's kiss, he added, “fifteen hundred dollars is a large sum for such an article, my dear, is it not!” “True, father, but are you not as well able to afford it as Mr. Frasier?” “It may be so, but what say you my dear,” addressing his wife who had been silent, but not a disinterested listener. “I am anxious that Janette should prevail with you. She and Matilda are each to give a party soon, and I have a desire not to be

eclipsed by her in the ornaments of the parlor.” -

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No. 11.

Ups and Downs.

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“A most commendable pride,” was the equivocal response. “But,” continued he, “what will you do with the old or rather the present new one 4 You surely do not want two?” “O, we can sell it to Gen. Chandler . Maria was admiring it much while here yester. day, though she thought it rather high priced,” eagerly responded Janette, who was happy to remove the only barrier to the gratification of her then predominant wish. “Perhaps she too may wish a fifteen hundred dollar one ! Gen. Chandler is surely able to afford one even more costly.” “O, no, father—she does not wish a better than mine,—she has quite a plain taste that way.” “How stupid she must be, Janette, must she not!” queried Oakley. Janette's face crimsoned at his pointed irony, but before she could frame any reply her father rose, and, as he left the house, said, “Let Miss Chandler have the piano-forte at her own price.” Janette's heart leaped for joy. She was not to be outdone by Matilda Frasier, and she looked forward with exultation to that day when she could astonish her friends by such an unexpected display. Her mother shared her fond anticipations, and it was soon arranged between them that Miss Chandler should be put into speedy possession of an article they now wondered could ever have found a place in their dwelling ! Charles Oakley commenced thes world empty-handed, nor had he accumulated much when he sought and obtained a partner to his poverty. Both were poor, and although they lived quietly together, his wife was ever sighing for the splendor of the rich. Though, in the main, a good sort of a woman, she lacked that un-common sense so requisite to contentment in the possession of a little, as well as that knowledge of domestic economy, generally so important in the acquisition of more. Janette, her only child, and so like herself in form and mind, was just verging to womanhood, and being heir, as was supposed, to an ample fortune, she looked forward to a splendid career in the circles of gayety and fashion. Had she possessed in her mother a wiser counsellor, she would have been at eighteen a very different person. She lacked not the principles of an opposite character, but under the false training of her mother, they had been suffered to repose uncultivated, while the weeds of folly were cherished into an expensive growth. These defects of mind were the more striking, as they marked the more strongly the contrast with a pleasing—a speaking eye, and a faultless form. Her father possessed none of the frivolity of herself or mother, and, owing to the sternness of his integrity, and his industrious ha

bits, success followed his efforts till the time we have chosen for his introduction to the reader. He had been what is called down in the world, but now he is so far up as to rank among the first in wealth in the city of his residence. But the time has arrived to drop individual delineations and to group them again before the reader. “Well, father, Miss Chandler is to have the piano. She will send for it this afternoon,” said Janette, exultingly. “At what price, my dear!” “The same it cost. When she found you had left it to her to set the price, she would not take it at less. Do you not think the sale a good one?” “Certainly—the best you ever made—being the only one.” “Here is the check for the money—a third of the cash of the new one.” “So you will lose only one thousand dollars after all, will you my dear?', was the grave response of her father. o “What say you,” he continued addressing his wife and daughter, “to a new carriage— the present one is somewhat soiled, is it not!” “By all means,” was the exclamation of both! “Let the new one be fashioned like Judge Arnold's, though not so sparingly mounted s” Oakley bowed, as if in assent, while a bitter smile played over his features for a moment; then all was calm again. The result of the conference was a resolve to sell the principal part of the furniture—all of a costly character, and replace it with that more fashionably splendid. Both mother and daughter retired to rest that evening full of importance which their new display was about to give them among their wondering neighbors. Alas, for the poor Frasiers! They were to be overwhelmed by a competition in finery which a fifteen hundred dollar piano had proved : A few days sufficed to clear the house of its most valuable furniture. Enough was left however for convenience and comfort, and when this was done, the mother and daughter were all impatience for that which was to replace what was gone. But two days remained to prepare for Janette's party. Evening came, but Oakley was yet absent and nothing had yet arrived. He came, but much later than usual, yet he atoned partially for his delay by the more than usual kindness of his manner. “Where can you have been, Charles, so late?” was the query of his wife as she seated herself fondly by his side. “I have had an uncommon share of business to attend to, my dear, and I rejoice that it is done. Come daughter bring forward the Bible and read a portion of it for our mutual instruction'"

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To M. M.–Immensity of Creation.

Vol. II.

The calm seriousness with which this was uttered, forbade any remarks on its unusual request. It so happened that Janette opened the book at the fifth chapter of Matthew, beginning, “Blessed are the pure in spirit; for iheirs is the kingdom of heaven,” and by the time she had finished the first paragraph, her voice became choked, and unable to proceed; she gave way to emotion in all the violence of grief. Her mother from sympathy or other cause, was equally affected, nor was Oakley free from the same emotion. When his wife and daughter had become somewhat composed, he knelt down between them with the solemnly expressed words, “Let us pray"— And he did pray in all the fervency of a broken spirit. He acknowledged his forgetfulness of God,—implored pardon for his own, and for the sins of those bound to him by the strongest of human ties—prayed that both he and his, might expel from their hearts the pride so long cherished—thanked his Creator for the gift of existence—for the blessings associated with it, as also for the hopes of an immortal existence hereafter, inspired by the promises of the gospel. He commended the world to the kind care of Him on whom are all dependant for the life that now is, as well as that which is to come; and so deeply did the spirit of his petitions affect his wife and daughter that they joined with him in that most solemnly expressive phrase, AMEN.

That night a new spirit reigned in the breasts of the Oakley family. And when what they had been half led to believe, was confirmed,—when they were assured that the wealth so long idolized was theirs no longer —scarcely a regret or a murmur escaped the lips of mother or daughter, but both seemed anxious to forget that misfortune had fallen on them. A situation more befitting their means was procured, and thither they repaired to enjoy far more real pleasure than when rioting in what seemed an inexhaustible abundance. The party—the carriage—the piano, and costly furniture were forgotten. Economy and industry took the place of fashionable folly, and they are now prosperous and happy. Mrs. Oakley lost her pride, but found contentment. Janette lost the same, as also a foppish beau, who had an eye to her fortune, but she has found her own good qualities, and has applied herself to their improvement, as well the worth of a young man who sighed for her when rich, and who loves her now while comparatively poor, and whom she will doubtless reward ere long, by surrendering herself to his care and keeping. Such is a sample of the “ups and downs” of life, and happy would it be if all who get toppled from the pinnacle of fortune could gain as much by the descent as did the Oakley family.

For the Ladies' Garland. TO M. M.,

who regretted that the writer never visited her in
rose-time.
“In rose-time!”—why, however drear
The scenes around, we've roses here;
Dear, and still dearer to my heart,
Are summer flowers, but they depart
As autumn's with'ring touch discloses-
How frail the brightest, sweetest roses.

But here are flowers, whose changeless bloom
No sunshine fades—no snows entomb,
In every season they are found,
Breathing the purest fragrance round;
And 'til for us earth's last scene closes,
We'll wreath the heart's unfading *::::
LL.A.

IM M E N SITY OF CR E ATION.

“He who through vast immensity can pierce,

See worlds on worlds compose one universe;

Observe how system into system runs,

What other planets circle other Suns;

What varied beings people every star,

May tell why God has made us as we are.”

Popg. Some astronomers have computed that there

are no less than 75,000,000 of suns in this universe. The fixed stars are all suns, having, like our sun, numerous planets revolving round them. The solar system, or that to which we belong, has about thirty planets, primary and secondary, belonging to it. The circular field of space which it occupies is in diameter 3,600,000,000 of miles, and that which it controls much greater. That sun which is nearest neighbor to ours is called Sirius, dis. tant from our sun twenty-two billions of miles! Now if all the fixed stars are as distant from each other as Sirius is from our sun: or if our solar system be the average magnitude of all the systems of the seventy-five millions of suns, what imagination can grasp the immensity of creation! Every sun of the seventyfive millions controls a field of space about ten billions of miles in diameter. Who can survey a plantation containing seventy-five millions of circular fields, each ten billions of miles in diameter | Such, however, is one of the plantations of Him “who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand, and meted out heaven with a span, and comprehended the dust of the earth in a mea: sure, weighed the mountains in scales, and the hills in a balance;” he who, “sitting upon the orbit of the earth, stretches out the heavens as a curtain, and spreadeth them out as a tent to dwell in.”

All excesses are followed by pain.

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